


The Future Is Space

by Missy_dee811



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Cap_Ironman Reverse Bang Challenge 2018, Community: cap_ironman, Flashbacks, Future Fic, Hopeful Ending, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Nightmares, Past Relationship(s), Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Secret Invasion (Marvel), Skrull(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 17:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14898860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/pseuds/Missy_dee811
Summary: The futurist is the man out of time. Trapped in ice, only to awake decades later, Tony has to learn his place in this time.[Written for the Cap-IM Reverse Bang 2018, Team Memory.][Artfor 'The Future Is Space' by ranoutofrun.]





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ranoutofrun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranoutofrun/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Art for 'The Future Is Space' and 'Parthanatos'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895764) by [ranoutofrun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranoutofrun/pseuds/ranoutofrun). 



> I want to thank [stefanidoesstuff](http://stefanidoesstuff.tumblr.com/) and [xtaticpearl](http://xtaticpearlsblog.tumblr.com/) for reading, proofreading, and cheering me on.
> 
> But most of all, I want to thank [ranoutofrun](http://ranoutofrun.tumblr.com/) for creating something so beautiful. I hadn't thought I was going to write for this, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to write a story for such a moving piece. Without your input, I would've been lost.

Easing into consciousness, he opens his eyes. 

It feels like it should hurt. His diaphragm contracts, moving downward as it does. He feels his lungs expand. It should hurt. God, he’s so used to it _hurting_.

His lungs hurt, his heart hurt, God, even his head hurt so much more often than it ever should have. Those sorts of injuries, they don’t heal. Not in the way cuts and scrapes heal. He can’t pick at the scabs…

His heart left a scar. Or, it had.

He didn’t even have that anymore. Didn’t even have his scars. At least, not the physical ones.

Even with all the changes he had undergone, even with all the advances in medical technology, he could never wash away the feeling. Could never forget the sensations.

The tightness that gave way to panic.

_Breathe._

He’d remind himself of a thing he thought he could never, would never forget. And yet. 

_Breathe._

It had hurt too many times before. Phantom pain, he supposes. Must be a psychosomatic response.

But it doesn’t hurt. Not this time. There’s nothing pushing down on him. There’s nothing restraining him now. He can breathe without worry.

He feels like it should be difficult to do this simple task, almost wants it to be hard, to cause him grief. It has been so long since he’s opened his eyes. So long since he’s taken in a breath of fresh air. Though it smells of disinfectant, in that way hospitals and clinics always smell of disinfectant. If you dig deeper, it’s because they’re always dirty. It’s because there’s no way to rid a place of the stench of death. It seeps into every pore.

It _lingers_.

He lingers, on the thought, but only for a moment. The faintest of moments. 

The precipice of a singularity.

He isn’t going to think about that now. He isn’t going to go down that winding path. It leads to dark places and he’s been in the dark for so long. 

Today, for the first time in such a long, long time, he’s going to see the light.

Steve’s there. _Steve’s there_ , he reminds himself. He rewards himself with this little bit of hope. It’s the light at the end of the tunnel.

Of course, when he awoke, it was already dark. But the morning will come. He’s sure of it. So very sure. 

He was once so sure of so many things. Lingering glances. Hands that came up and around his shoulders, holding him tight. Holding him close, as if he mattered. As if he were important. Saying to him, in so many unspoken words: _I want you close. I need you close. I need you here._

Suddenly, he wants to cry. The weight of everything crashing into him as if they were waves. As if this were a secluded beach. 

 _Malibu._ He misses Malibu. He misses walking down the beach. 

We used to go to those. We used to go to beaches. We used to go to baseball games. We used to fight over the remote and what we’d watch on TV. We used to do so many things. _Steve, we used to do so many things._

_Why couldn’t we do this?_

Suddenly, he’s forgotten what it felt like to walk on sand and not feel it burn. Not feel the blazing sun cooking his shoulders.

He wonders what it feels like to dive into the water, to feel the waves crash against his back, against his chest, and not panic.

Why couldn’t the flashbacks remind him of things he loved?

He’s forgotten what it felt to not dread the sea. Not dread the sensation that would follow. 

The sound of water rushing in his ears, enveloping him. The pressure on his head, on his neck.

There could be tears. For all he knew, there could be tears.

He was crying. 

It was all so clear now. Those things he thought he had understood. Those things he thought he could glean. Experience mattered. Now, he was experienced. And in his experience, he would say, there was nothing he could’ve done to prepare for this. For what it felt to wake up displaced. 

_Steve, Steve. I never knew it could feel like this._

Breathing isn’t one of those things you can forget. 

He feels the emptiness. He feels the void. 

He was an addict. He _is_ an addict. He’s felt soul-crushing loneliness. How could he not? He practically drank himself to death.

Even in those dark times, even in that haze… He never relinquished hope.

And now, now that he’s awake. Now that the universe has said, you’ve been away long enough. How can he feel what isn’t there?

He thinks of kisses. He thinks of hands running down his back. Nails digging into his flesh, leaving trails as they roam. At other times, kneading into his muscles until he groans.

He thinks of moans in his ear.

He thinks. He thinks of so many things. Both imagined and real. Dreams he had forgotten when he awoke, moments he had forgotten soon as they happened. Buried deep. As are all dark things.

It was a rather nasty habit, and in his life, he had picked up some rather nasty habits. 

He feels parched. When was the last time he drank?

 _No_ , not that kind of drink.

 _No_ , that wasn’t what he meant.

But his mind has already conjured up the thoughts. He’s already thinking it. It’s out of his control, so he just lets it play out in his mind.

_It’s just a thought._

Just a thought. He could do so much with just a thought.

He’s remembering that day. That day in the snow. The day he thought he was going to die. He remembers trying to fall asleep. If he had closed his eyes then…

If he had only closed his eyes.

 _No_ , he isn’t going to think about that. This isn’t like that at all. There was never any snow, only ice. 

They went ice skating once, in Bryant Park. Every year, there’s an ice skating rink that pops up, in the middle of the park, in the heart of Midtown. It was so easy to blend in, so easy to become one of the masses.

He knew it pleased Steve. It pleased him to do simple things. He had learned that after their night at the museum. He had given him a private tour of the Smithsonian. It hadn’t been a date, but then again, it had.

He wanted to give him this. To give him this chance to think of the ice in a new light. _New memories._

It wasn’t purely altruistic either, he knew he could only steal small, quiet moments with him.

It had been so much simpler then.

 

_“Will someone say something if they see us together?” Steve looked over his shoulder as he laced his skates. He was all bundled up: a hat, a scarf, gloves. Tony could tell, just by looking at him, that he was wearing a thick jacket underneath the windbreaker. He didn’t need that many layers, but it made him feel better. Best prepared for stormy weather._

_Tony smiled. “Only if they think it’s us, Steve. Only if they think it’s us.”_

_“Should we be using our names?”._

_“No? Maybe? I’m not sure, but it’s too late. I’ve already called you by your name,” he said. It was too intimate and yet, Steve smiled._

_Or, perhaps, he smiled because it was intimate._

If I can only have you by candlelight, I want it to illuminate your whole face. I want to see the flame dance in your eyes as I wish we could dance. I want your hips to sway in tune with mine.

One day. One day, it’ll be okay to hold your hand in public.

_“I know, I heard.”_

_He tied the laces on the other skates. Tony watched, transfixed by his every movement. Maybe, they should’ve stayed home. This was dangerous._

_He felt vindicated, if only a little saddened when Steve added, it’s risky, though._

_Tony stood, precariously balanced on the sharpened blades. “You’re reckless. It’s practically your middle name.”_

_“Oh, well… If it’s a dare, then you’re on, Iron Man.”_

_Tony grinned. He felt warm and he knew, it wasn’t the sweater. “I knew I could count on you, Cap.”_

_It was Steve who stood then, and placed his hands on his shoulders._ Earnest, he was always so earnest when he spoke to me like this _, thought Tony, recalling the words._

_“Always,” said Steve, squeezing his hand. “You can always count on me, Shellhead.”_

 

He looks up now, and he sees him. One breath, followed by another in quick succession. He knew he was there. He knew. Before he had seen him, he sensed his presence.

One breath after the other. Everything was easier with practice.

Sparring sessions in the Mansion. Flying, with his hand around his waist. It was all much easier with practice.

Ignoring the whispers, ignoring the rumors. Pretending it didn’t matter, pretending what they said wasn’t true. _Was it true? Did he feel that way too?_

At times, he thought, _perhaps_. At times.

He’s had practice at other things too. _It’s just another hospital_ , he tells himself, willing himself to think this time isn’t much different from the others.

_Last time I woke up in a hospital, I had been dead for 37 minutes. For him, I had been dead for 37 minutes._

It had been the only way.

That seemed to be the common thread. There was always one last shock, one last betrayal. Premeditated. Disguised as a friendly handshake.

_This is just another hospital bed._

He doesn’t feel any sedatives in his system, or any painkillers either. He’s grateful.

 _Another hospital_. He almost laughs aloud. Isn’t that the most normal thing about this? About all of this? _A hospital_.

Some things change so little as to go unnoticed. Some changes are so gradual, millennia must pass before they can be observed with the naked eye. Some changes are infinitesimal. The strongest microscopes can’t peer that close.

Human rise to the challenge. They have invented all sorts of machines to detect, to decipher, to decode these changes. 

Humans categorize them. Catalogue them. Meticulously. 

He would know. He was one of those humans. The ones who were decoding, deciphering. Whose machines would detect minute changes. In his heartrate, in his gait, in the way his lungs took in a breath.

He could see the changes though. He could always see the changes. It had been one of the things that had set him apart. It had been one of the things that made him who he was. It shaped him. This ability of his, to see things, not only as they were, but as they would be when they changed, when they adapted. 

He would always anticipate it. When they would morph into their final form. 

“Steve.” He says his name, softly. As if speaking his name would bring with it some change. Some change to the status quo.

And there it was: the first sign of doubt. 

Steve, for his part, was sleeping, tucked into the armchair in the corner of the room. A thin hospital blanket was covering him. He couldn’t be cold. The room was warm. Warmer than it needed to be, but then again, Steve would understand.

Of anyone, Steve would understand.

And just like that, some things made a little more sense. 

 _I couldn’t have known_ , he thinks miserably.

 _Oh Steve, I said I understood but I just… I couldn’t have known_ , he thinks as he moves around the room, still debating if it’s worth waking Steve. His mind supplies a yes much too quickly. 

It was just another thing that made all of this seem normal. Another thing that made all of this seem…commonplace. As if it could have happened at any time. In any time. 

Steve was sitting in an armchair, just waiting for him to recuperate. How he wishes he could reciprocate. 

He is in another time. He knows, has known since he awoke. Everything about waking up felt…disconcerting. He remembered falling asleep. Remembered how it wasn’t sleep.

_This is how you felt all these years._

This is that gnawing feeling, that sensation deep within, that couldn’t, wouldn’t let you rest. These were the termites in your blood, eating you from the inside. Leeching on your blood, feasting on your flesh.

The thought alone was disgusting and yet. He was comforted. Comforted in the knowledge that he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t the first.

_Perhaps, with you here, I can find a home._

He almost laughed aloud, but that would have been rude.

In the past, he had seen a man in need, and being that he had more than plenty, had offered him all he could. It was the least he could do for the man he had admired all his life, for the man with the clear, azure eyes that invaded his subconscious.

In the early days, it had been hero worship.

Tony had offered him a room in his home, a place on the team, and a bleeding heart that would do anything for him. He couldn’t have known the latter part, not then. Not before he knew he and Iron Man were one and the same.

_Would things have been different from the onset if he had?_

He had always kept secrets from him, from the very beginning. He had never meant to keep the SHRA a secret.

He wondered if, in this future, he would be shunned away? Would he be relegated to the far corners of the changed world, taken out only at night, under the light of the moon but no other heavenly body, with only the stars for company?

He had wished for space travel, he had dreamed of it so much as a child. It brought with it wonders and horrors, as did all things in life, even Steve’s clear, azure eyes.

He had cried before his lifeless body and a part of him had died with him, the part of him that thought he could never apologize.

 

It would be so rude to awaken his visitor. To awaken to the sound of a mirthless laugh.

He leans against the window, his hands splayed on the cold glass. Steve, beside him on the armchair, is still sound asleep. Now that he's closer. Now that he can reach him, he can see the changes. Those gradual changes he wouldn't have noticed from the bed. 

There's a hint of silver in his too blond hair. It's the first thing that's made him smile since he awoke. Didn't think a super soldier would ever turn gray. 

 _How much time has passed?_ He wonders. Where he was, he wouldn't have noticed. He tries not to think of the ice.

_Steve, Steve. All these years. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I never understood this pain._

_God_ , he wonders how many other things he thought he understood but could only barely grasp. How many other things were within his reach but out of hand?

 _Futurist_. He called himself a futurist, and though he had been in the future, and though he had been in the past, he had never lived in it. Now, he was forced to contend with that fact. As with all the others.

The consequences piled higher and higher with each passing hour. What of the SHRA? What of the Skrulls?

There are so many things he didn't notice. He should've though. He should've known. Too busy with the war. Too busy negotiating with politicians. Too busy crying over Steve.

Steve, sleeping peacefully beside him. 

For the umpteenth time since waking, he finds himself too busy remembering how to breathe. This time, he doesn’t mind what takes his breath away. He doesn’t mind this kind of panic at all. The butterflies swirling around his stomach. He takes comfort in this. After all, it’s a feeling he’s had for many years.

It’s not new at all.

He never minded when it was Steve. When it was Steve who took his breath away with his blond hair, blue eyes, and flushed cheeks. He remembers the day at the ice skating rink. The butterflies that had been doing laps around the rink in tune with them.

 

_“If you’re cold,” he had said, as he placed his gloved hand on his shoulder, “we can go home.”_

_“I’m not cold,” said Steve._

_“You’re a terrible liar, Rogers.”_

_Steve laughed. “You’re not much better.”_

_That had been his retort. He remembered as one does their favorite parts in their favorite books. The memory still had the ability to bring out a smile. Amid all he had forgot, he remembered this._

_Decades later, he remembered this._

_“Maybe, but I hid my identity. I had to lie about that.” There was no use hiding the truth. He had to admit it had been a terrible plan._

_“You didn’t have to lie, Tony. You could’ve told us – you could’ve told me. We would’ve helped. We’re a team.”_

_He rubbed a hand across his scrunched face. He had been tired. It had been quite a day, dodging glances from passersby, from onlookers._

_Steve was dashing, positively debonair. It made him easy on the eyes. He had the body of a marble sculpture. It was hard not to notice. His iridescent eyes. His soft, blond hair, swaying in the wind as they skated across the ice._

_He relaxed his expression and took a deep breath. “I didn’t always know that, Steve,” he said. It felt like a confession, more than anything. It was an admission of guilt._ I didn’t know I could count on the team, I didn’t know I could count on you.

_“Oh,” said Steve. Speechless thereafter, completely taken aback._

_He hadn’t wanted to talk about this. He rarely wanted to talk about this. They hadn’t discussed his secret identity, not since the day it had happened._

_“I meant what I said earlier,” said Steve. “You can count on me.”_

_“Okay,” said Tony, and he remembered willing himself to believe it, if only in the moment._

_“I believe in you, Tony,” said Steve._

_“In who,” he replied, half-jokingly._

_“In Iron Man.”_

_He wanted this. He didn’t care anymore. He was tired of keeping himself contained and restrained. He was tired of watching his back in both his identities, was tired of having to hide the fact that he loved this man._

_He leaned in to kiss him, splaying his hand on his chest. His heart pounding erratically, and not in the way he was accustomed._

_“Please,” he supplicated. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But I can’t. Not here, not like this,” said Steve._

_Tony knew he looked devastated._

_“Then where,” he asked Steve. He wasn’t offended. It was for the best. He knew that._

_Steve smiled. “Home. I want to kiss you when we get home.”_

He takes in a breath and doesn't want to let it go. In his dreams, in the endless dark, he had reached for him. It was the last thing he did.

He feels a gentle hand. It's warm, oh so warm – nothing like the ice – on the small of his back.

It's gentle. Tentative. The caress of someone unsure. Of someone hesitant to ask, to say what's on their mind. It's the touch of someone who's doubting whether they're wanted or not.

_How could you ever doubt? I’ve always wanted you._

Tony turns, keeping his right hand on the window. He says his name. Itself a question, perhaps an answer.

Steve smiles. "It's been a really long time."

Tony feels the tears swell up, but doesn’t cry.

Tony nods, not knowing if he can say, in words, all he wants to say. Not sure he can trust his voice. Not sure it won’t betray him.

_You were dead, Steve. I cried at your funeral, Steve. I buried you in the arctic, Steve._

_Steve._

"When am I?"

Steve smirks, pulling the blanket off himself as he sits up.

He doesn’t answer the question. Not immediately. "You must know this is strange for me."

Tony nods. "It's strange for me, too."

Steve is quiet for a moment. His mind formulating a response. Tony’s sure of it, he’s seen that expression on his face a thousand times. He couldn’t forget it.

Steve turns to face him, leans his cheek against the armchair. Tony holds his breath. He’s anxious. Anxious to know.

"You've been asleep for 350 years. We're in Manhattan. I haven’t moved. You know me, I’m quite fond of the city. These days, it floats above the ocean," he pauses. Seems to consider adding something else, but wonders if it's too much, perhaps. At least, that’s what Tony figures from his micro-expressions.

Too much for the first day? He would think so. He had once been in Steve’s shoes. He knows Steve has told him more than enough with those words.

Tomorrow would be another morning, itself the start of another day. They could talk then.

He settles on something. Looks up at Tony. Their blue eyes meet. "It's still New York."

Tony turns back to peer out the window. He wasn't looking before. All that time, he had been reminiscing. Thinking about that day at in the park and that evening back at the Mansion.

 

_Later, much, much later, when things had calmed and all had gone to bed. They found themselves alone in the kitchen. Tony had been restless since they’d left. If Steve shared his anxiety, he did a much better job of concealing it._

_Tony was beginning to think Steve was a much better liar than he had ever given him credit for, though Tony had learned his tells. Albeit, not all of them._

_“I can’t take it anymore,” said Tony, moving closer to Steve. Trapping him between his chest and the counter._

_“Are you going to kiss me?”_

_“So impatient,” he said, clearly more amused than aggravated, turning his head to the side to view Tony, standing behind him, pressing him into the counter with the weight of his body._

_When he spoke, he sounded playful._

_Tony knew he couldn’t trap him between his body and the counter forever. At least, not while he was washing the dishes. He moved out of the way, letting Steve put away the already dry plates._

_Tony stood there, unsure what to do with his hands. Unsure what to do about his erratic heart. He knew it wasn’t an anxiety attack, he knew it was just the uncertainty. There were endless possibilities._

_He wanted only the best outcomes to come true._

_Nothing bad would come of this, of that he was certain. They had been dancing around each other for a while. Ever since the team had found out he and Iron Man were one and the same._

_He had been in less intense battles with his nemeses._

_Steve must’ve sensed Tony’s panic and worry, must’ve seen it dance across his features, for he took his hand and pulled him into his chest. He kept his hand in Tony’s, joining them above his heart._

_“Why are you so nervous? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”_

_Tony nodded and Steve wrapped his hands around his waist, though Tony kept his hand splayed over Steve’s heart._

_“Do you feel better now that you’re safe and warm?”_

_“I should be the one to ask you that, Steve.” Steve was always so cold._

_Tony took a deep breath and let it out he slowly. In his mind, he counted until the number nine. Then, he exhaled._

_Steve was so close, so close. He could see him, he could feel him, he could breathe him in. He wouldn’t want to do that, of course. Wouldn’t want to take his air. It was such a silly thought, in hindsight, but it had made sense, in that empty kitchen, late in the night._

_He knew it was now or never. This was their chance to give it a shot._

_He licked his lips. He met his clear, azure eyes, and knew what he wanted to say. Knew what he was going to ask. “Do you want to kiss me now?”_

_A throaty yes was all he received in response._

_Steve ran his hands up his body and Tony felt the buzz of electricity._

_“So why don’t you?”_

_“I’ve been waiting for the right time.”_

_“Okay. Is this it? Is this the right time?” He hadn’t meant to sound so desperate._

_Steve just smiled._ How could he be so calm? How could he be so calm at a time like this? _Tony felt so wired, as if they had jump-started his heart._

_Perhaps, they had._

_“Only one way to find out,” said Steve. He wrapped his arms around his neck and leaning down, just a fraction. They were almost the same height. He wasn’t in the armor._

_He kissed him._

_Tony felt as if he had been pulled apart. Pulled apart and sown back together. A wave of calm washed over him. He was home. This was home. Wherever they were, wherever they would be, so long as they were together, it would be home._

_They had said I love you that night and Tony had cried when he came apart in his hands._

_“I didn’t think it could be like this,” he had confessed and Steve, he had understood. “Me either.”_

 

Now it's all he sees: the changes. The sky is different. He stares at the night sky through the large, expansive windows of the hospital room.

He knows Steve is watching him, observing his every move, his every intake of breath. Breathing was so much easier now. It’s a comfort, after so long, to find comfort in another. Especially Steve, whose comfort he always sought, most of all when he couldn’t have it.

Things between them, once upon a time, were easy. Simple, even. Since then centuries had passed and he wasn’t delusional enough to believe that anything could be, that in this century they could be together as they were meant to be.

The city looks alive in ways it never did in the twenty-first century. There are gardens all over, breathing in, and clearing up the air. They adorned all the high-rises.

In centuries past, financial decisions had affected the construction of skyscrapers, concentrating them in the southern tip of the island, mostly in the Financial District, and the center of the island, south of Central Park, in Midtown.

However, this was only possible because, in these areas, the bedrock underlying much of the island, lay closer to the surface. This metamorphic rock was created when Pangea had formed. 

It was this schist that made New York’s towering skyline possible.

He loved building in New York, loved watching the city change and grow. To him, it was a pulsing, beating heart.

Looking at the city from above with its hanging gardens and lush terraces, he could still see the remnants of the city in which he had lived most of his adult life. It was the place where they had loved and lost. It was the place where they had fought, both each other, and countless nameless, faceless villains, as well as their true nemeses. Time.

He looks back over at Steve. He turns back to look at the stars, to look at the moon, to look at the metropolis he once knew.

He's lost so much _time_. Steve moves closer but doesn’t touch him.

_Steve, Steve. All these years. But you – you of all people – you understand._

"How," he asks, turning back to face Steve. Steve takes his hand in his and Tony feels a tingle down his spine. He keeps his breathing even as Steve leads him back to the bed. There, they sit side-by-side. Tony can't take his eyes off him. He wants to touch him, but that’s too much.

"Was waiting for you to ask that.” He smiles, his cheeks flushing a little. It’s endearing, after all these years. He continues, “I thought you'd ask that first." 

He's still holding Tony's hand. It should be strange. So much of this should be strange. They were intimate once, yes. But though it’s been much less time for Tony, it’s been so long for Steve.

He's lived a long life. By this stage, he should be immune to change. His graying temples tell a different tale. He’s adapted.

This time, he’s been given a chance to grow with the changes, right alongside them. _I should’ve been here with you. We could’ve done this together._

Tony squeezes his hand. He loves him.

_With him, I feel the kind of warmth I haven't felt in ages._

_I could have this_ , thinks Tony. _I could have this, this time._

He turns to look at Steve, and there’s a certain sadness in his eyes. _We tried this once, remember? We tried._

He can’t quite place the emotions just beneath. Something lurks beneath those azure pools and he wants to ask, wants to know.

He doesn’t though. Doesn’t want to break the spell.

Steve holds his hand. It’s warm and familiar.

He missed this. He missed his touches, sometimes they lingered, but they were always familiar. On the battlefield, after missions. On their long trips home, when they would just lean against each other. Sometimes bandaging each other’s wounds. Other times they would be annoyed by the outcome of the fight, though perhaps not at each other.

Steve cups his cheek and Tony leans into the touch. He’s overwhelmed.

_Is this love? Is this comfort? Is it home?_

_Is he home?_

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” Tony smiles, softly. He never thought he’d see Steve again. Never thought he’d escape the ice.

“It’s hard for me,” says Steve, dropping his hand, and looking away.

“You remember a different man, a different time. I’m not that man anymore. I’m not the man I was when I knew you then. I’m not the man I was when we were in love. I’m not the man I was when were teammates, when we disagreed, and fought of opposite sides.

“I was in limbo, and from what I heard, you mourned me. Everyone who knew us, who knew what we meant to each other, informed me. Bucky told me what you did for him, and for that, I’ve been grateful.

“They didn’t know what had happened to you after the fight with the Skrull. When I came back… When I came back… You weren’t around and I… I was still upset about what happened, and how things ended between us, but I hadn’t expected… I hadn’t expected you to be gone.

“When I was new, when I knew nothing, you were there,” he says, meeting Tony’s glassy eyes.

“It’s…so good to see you, Tony. To see you alive, but I’ve… I’ve had a chance to live my life. I’ve had a longer life than most. I’ve watched all those we knew come and go. Of our friends, only a few are still around. Those whose enhanced abilities allow them to live longer lives and those whose lives were always going to continue once we died. 

“After you disappeared, so many things happened. Norman Osborn took over with his team of supervillains. They formed a mockery of SHIELD and named it HAMMER.

“Jim wouldn’t stop looking for you, he wanted to be the one to find you, but they couldn’t keep looking, not with the way things were, and with all the losses they had incurred.

“Many of our friends, many of our colleagues… They didn’t care. Months later, after the Skrulls had been pushed away, there was memorial held along Fifth Avenue. There was an outpouring of support. With you gone, so too was the SHRA. Superheroes had saved the world from a race of aliens. There was renewed public support for what we do.

“For me, it was like losing Bucky all over again. He was my partner-in-arms. There were times I couldn’t stop myself from thinking, _I should’ve been there. I should’ve fought that Skrull._

_“He fought you and trapped you and you were gone and with you, everything we had ever fought for, everything we had ever wanted to achieve._

“I… I’m not proud of this, but I stepped away. When I came back, there were no Avengers. Carol had her own team but I couldn’t join them. I couldn’t join another team. I couldn’t join a team without you in it. I couldn’t lead other heroes. I had made enough mistakes. I needed to take time away.

“Sharon and I, we reconnected. I had always loved Sharon. She was strong, intelligent, and married to her job like I was. I had always thought her beautiful.

“We talked about of lives, we talked about our goals, and our desires. She had told me she had been pregnant, but had lost the baby. It had made her realize she didn’t want to give up her job, hadn’t wanted to give it up for me, or anyone else, and that included the baby.

“I knew I felt the same way. I didn’t want to give up my job.  

“We stayed friends. She went back to the newly reformed SHIELD as its Director and I went undercover. I thought I was done being Captain America. Bucky was still Captain America. I thought I could be a spy. I teamed up with Natasha and a few others. We ran covert missions.

“They called me the Commander, but simply put, I hated it. I hated being Steve Rogers full-time. I didn’t have a cowl to put on or a shield to hide under. I had spent so much time trying to figure out where I fit in this world, where I fit on the team, but I hadn’t spent enough time trying to figure out who I was outside of Captain America. So much of my identity centered on being an Avenger, on being a hero, but when I was off running covert operations, I was neither of those things, and yet, I was still me.

“In time, I came to see why you hated being Tony Stark when you could be Iron Man. The armor was always a shell – it was why I called you Shellhead – so I knew you hid yourself in the armor, but I hadn’t understood why. I couldn’t understand why you would detest being yourself. Well, I wasn’t a fan of myself either, not then.

“I spent so much time with a shield before me. The shield was an extension of me, the way the armor had been an extension of you. I came to see that. I came to see what you had always said. There were many more futures possible. I kept thinking of the futures I had thought possible, not not all the possible futures. It was the kind of thing you tried telling me time and time again.

“Bucky carried the mantle, but it wasn’t only mine. I hadn’t been the only Captain America, and I knew I wouldn’t be.

Tony stares at him, mouth agape. He has been silent as Steve spoke. Letting the other man continue his story. Throughout, he kept looking at the night sky, kept staring at the cityscape before him, wondering what else could have been.

“I told you,” says Steve, running his hands through his cropped hair. “I’m a different man. I can admit these things now.”

He touches Tony’s thigh. “You should rest, for now. I just wanted to be here when you woke up.”


	2. New Beginnings

Over the next few days and weeks, Steve introduced Tony to the world he lived in, the world he had watched take place over the last few centuries.

The future was full of innovations and he marveled at them. Sparks of ingenuity had led to wonderful new creations, designed to make the world a better, simpler place, and to make life easier. It was the kind of work he was fond of doing, it was the kind of work in which he had immersed himself. He was glad to have seen it continue.

He read up on what became of his company, out of sheer curiosity, though he knew it didn’t exist anymore.

After he was assumed dead, the company fell in the hands of its shareholders. The government contracts were kept in place. It was their prime source of revenue and assured the jobs of thousands of employees across several countries and fields.

Differing ideas on where the company should move, going forward, divided the Board of Directors. Deliberations and negotiations took time. Tony’s death had left quite a vacancy. However, during this interim, Pepper had acted as CEO. He had relied on her doing much of the paperwork, and so she knew her way around. He wasn’t surprised, she had always had a business-savvy mind.

When it came time to vote for a new CEO, to choose a direction in which the company would go, they elected her, and saw her fit to lead the company in the direction she chose. He learned she continued much of the research and much of the work he had initiated. Under her leadership, the company prospered.

However, she remained a widow. She never remarried. When prodded, years later, she said she had been a wife once and that was enough. She had the memories of her husband. He noted there were rumors that she had been with several women, but those were unconfirmed.

He had never considered it before, but he could imagine her with an equally beautiful and intelligent partner.

As for Iron Man, Jim Rhodes took up the mantle, once again. He and Carol lead a team and years later, were married. It brought him to tears. He could’ve been at the wedding. He could’ve been by their side.

 

Everything he had read mentioned the Great War and its cataclysmic effects. He knew little of what had existed before the Great War remained. The earth had been caught in the crossfire of a galactic war, and though the heroes assembled, it was no match for them and the armies of earth.

Famine plagued the earth and it suffered heavily.

 _“Every effort we made… It felt as if it was in vain. It felt as if every win we had ever had paled in comparison to this loss. We were defeated but they pitied us, and so, they left us. War-torn and starving,”_ he had said as he drank his morning tea.

_“It took decades to reconstruct and what we have now is the work of countless people – the heads of organizations, of activist groups – who had rallied for change. The creation of the International Government was met with many protests the world over from those who wished to continue the exploitation that had been a characteristic of the world before the Great War._

_“But there’s strength in numbers and support for the new International Government was at an all-time high. The outpouring of support drowned out the protestors, who sought to maintain the status quo. Earth had been decimated. Those losses could’ve been prevented, or at least, minimized, had earth presented a unified front in the fight, but it hadn’t._

_“The casualties were numerous. Billions had died either directly or indirectly. As a people, we were determined not to let that happen again. We were determined not just to avoid it, but to take steps towards actively ensuring it could never, ever happen again._

_“We could’ve used your help then_ ,” said Steve. Tony wasn’t sure. He had been enthralled, listening attentively as Steve told him about the last century. He met Steve’s gaze and held it.

Steve kept talking.

_“The Americas, Africa, Eurasia, and Oceania formed the four Unified Regions. No one Region has more power than the others. Each Region has its own Headquarters. Each Region conducts its own elections, electing members to serve in its Legislative Body. Their terms are set to two years, with each member allowed to serve a maximum of eight years. It has worked so far._

_“The hardest battle to win was basic income. Activists had fought for it for years and the International Court upheld the law that had been passed by the International Government. Along with basic income, shelter, water, food, access to medicine, and access to education were deemed basic rights, and afforded special protections._

Steve paused, _“You would have liked the woman that pioneered a lot of the technology we use,”_ he said, touching the table and waiting for it to light up. _“Her name was Riri Williams and the way she spoke, the ideas she had… They reminded me of you.”_

 

Late one evening, just before dinner, Steve had asked, “Your body… Does it still run Extremis?”

Tony stopped in his tracks. He had been walking toward the table, had heard Steve say dinner was nearly ready.

He wasn’t prepared to talk about this. He had spent the day running diagnostics on himself and his armor. It was easier in this time. Things were more technologically advanced, and though his designs were centuries old, they weren’t outdated. Though there was nothing like Extremis in this time. Its secrets had died with its creator, for knew how to create it.

Tony knew Maya Hansen was long dead. He knew most everyone was long dead, save for the select few that were always going to outlive their lovers and teammates. Thinking of this brought forth a certain kind of sadness, a longing and a yearning to go back. He knew Steve had felt this way too. It was strange, how their roles had reversed.

Hearing Steve talk about this was jarring. Steve had always been vocal of his disdain for the virus and the way it changed Tony, he wondered what had changed. Though he knew the answer was everyone but him.

Tony nodded.

“I didn’t think so… Was just curious,” said Steve, placing Tony’s plate before him. “You would’ve been more overwhelmed if you had. You would’ve woken up and have been connected to everything. In this age, everything is interconnected. It’s probably for the best that you don’t have access to it anymore. It would be too much for one person.”

Tony ate his dinner in silence.

Sometime later, he spoke. “No, I don’t have Extremis. The Skrulls made sure of that, but… I’m not entirely human. My body’s physiology was completely rewritten by the virus and I couldn’t undo that even if I wanted to do so… It’s… It’s part of me.”

“I know,” said Steve, unperturbed.

It was strange to be living with Steve again. To be living with a Steve who was so calm, at ease. Very little bothered him. He seemed to have gained quite an understanding of a very many things over the centuries, but then again, that seemed logical. He was always a strategist. He had to keep up with the times to plan his next move.

It had seemed natural to accept Steve’s offer and move in with him. That had cohabitated for so long. Steve had said it was nice not to be alone anymore, and Tony hadn’t known how to respond to that. He wasn’t sure he knew where he fit in this world.

He felt like an intruder.

Everything he had learned had only fueled his doubts. The world had survived, thrived, even, without him. The world doesn’t need a futurist stuck in the past, and that’s what he is. He knows that.

Beyond that, he felt unwanted. He didn’t presume anything. He couldn’t know if Steve wanted more than just a renewed friendship from him.

 

As he had once done for Steve, Steve tried to make this Tony’s new home. They explored the city and its new jewels. So much had happened in the intervening time, it felt as if he would never finish learning, he would never catch up to the present.

At night, he flew through the skies, and as always, Steve awaited his return. Tony tried not to think of it as more than it appeared on the surface, he didn’t want to give himself false hope. Whatever they had… It had happened so long ago.

Tony knew. He knew Steve had been with others. He knew he and Sharon had had a daughter. “Margaret,” he had said, his eyes glassy. “Her name was Margaret.”

She was the spitting image of her mother with her long, blonde hair, her dedication to service, and her stubbornness. “In fairness, she inherited that from both of us,” Steve had said. He had smiled then, fond and proud. It was evident he had loved her.

Much like her father, she too had been a super soldier.

She had died fighting in the Great War. They went to her grave, one afternoon. It was almost sunset when they had reached where she lay. There were thousands of graves. They had spent hours walking through the cemetery.

When they reached her grave, Steve took from Tony the lilies he had been holding. He had sat and cried. Had confessed to forgetting her birthday.

“I didn’t come this year. I didn’t come.”

Tony had sat next to him and watched in silence as the man he loved cried over his long-dead daughter. He offered words of comfort and let Steve cry on his shoulders. It was good. It was good to see him cry. The Steve he had known would’ve kept everything bottled up, would’ve bellowed with rage when push came to shove, but wouldn’t have been so open with his pain, with his loss.

He suspected it was something he would’ve had to learn. He couldn’t have continued repressing all his emotions when the world around his was so tumultuous and when there was a young girl who needed his guidance.

He wondered what he would’ve been like had he ever been a father.

As they left the cemetery, Steve reached for his hand, clasping it in his own. “No father should ever have to put their child to rest.”

They hadn’t talked as they made their way back home. _Home_. He wondered when he had started calling it home.

 

That night, he awoke with a scream. Steve was by his side, pulling him into his strong, warm arms. “It’s just a dream, Tony. It’s just a dream.”

Tony had started to push away. Susurrating, he said, “It’s just me, Tony. It’s me, Steve, and I’m right here with you.”

He had had nightmares for so long, it was commonplace. He had dreamed of the dessert and of Yinsen’s last words. He had dreamed of Rumiko, her blood all over his arms. He had dreamed of the shield coming down on him, breaking the faceplate open. He had dreamed of crying over a corpse.

_No, he’s here. He’s here._

These nightmares though, they were new. These nightmares were of his final moments, during that fateful fight.

The Skrull had grabbed him by neck. He couldn’t breathe. Every breath could have been his dying breath.

He knew that sensation, knew it so well. He hated it. Hated the lack of control. 

He hadn’t wanted to die, not then.

The snow, the wind – it was all a memory. He knew it wasn’t real, he knew he wasn’t there. It had happened so long ago, in the grand scheme of things, but it had only been a matter of weeks for him.

In that moment, all he had felt was that hand around his neck, squeezing him through the armor.

The snow. The ice. It was so cold. Suddenly, he was so cold. He didn’t know if he had said it aloud or had started to shiver, but Steve took notice.

He didn’t tense up beside him, he just wrapped his arms tighter.

He confessed to Tony, in the quiet night, “I don’t get those nightmares anymore. Worse things have happened. I dream of those now.”

Tony’s breathing steadied and Steve pulled him close as they lay back on the bed. “You don’t have to sleep alone, Tony.”

Tony hadn’t nodded, had just wiped away the tears. He had wanted this but had been too afraid to ask, too afraid of rejection, too afraid of being turned away. He curled into Steve’s chest and could feel his heart beating in time with his.

“This is nice,” he said without meaning to do so.

“You can have this,” said Steve, running his hand through Tony’s damp curls.  

“You can have me.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on [Tumblr](http://viudanegraaa.tumblr.com).


End file.
